


Searing Jealousy, Soothing Affection

by Zodiac



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Au Ra Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Awkward Flirting, Jealousy, M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Misunderstandings, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), POV Third Person, Secret Relationship, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29962233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zodiac/pseuds/Zodiac
Summary: Until recently, Emet-Selch thought of jealousy as an emotion exclusive to mortals, a pathetic, violent feeling for pathetic, violent creatures. However, after entering a secretive relationship with the Warrior of Light and witnessing the Crystal Exarch's attempts at flirting with him, he discovered that not only mortals experienced jealousy.
Relationships: Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Kudos: 19





	Searing Jealousy, Soothing Affection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anorptron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anorptron/gifts).



> Commission for Anorptron of Emet-Selch in a secret relationship with their WoL and he ends up getting jealous of the Crystal Exarch trying to subtly flirt with him before becoming protective over the WoL after realizing that it's unrequited.

Jealousy was a fickle, cantankerous beast. With gripping, serrated claws, it burrowed its way into the hearts of man, sinking in deeply and not relinquishing its grasp until they were driven wholly mad by it. So possessed, they have fought tooth and nail against their brethren, gleefully spilled blood of those who allegedly scorned them, started and ended wars all because of some petty, irrational emotion.

Such an emotion that Emet-Selch thought himself immune to. Until now.

In the olden times, when Amaurot was still a gleaming jewel of a city, there was naught to be jealous of. Society was idyllic, a veritable utopia where anyone could have anything their heart desired; it was quite difficult to feel jealous over meager objects when one could retrieve a copy of it from the Bureau of the Architect anytime they wished, after all. There were still quarrels between citizens, yes, but they were peacefully (although sometimes quite loudly) worked out in the Hall of Rhetoric, each side stating their points and debating the merit of them rather than allowing secrets and issues to fester as mortals often did. Even in the cases where an agreement could not be reached, the mere act of a good debate was often enough to quell any fiery tempers or stewing uncertainties, each side becoming so caught up in building their rhetoric that upset emotions tended to have simmered down by the end of it all.

Now, however, there was no such structure, not even the barest hint of rigidity or logic when it came to how these mortals solved their issues. Some  _ did _ manage to solve them amicably, he had to admit, the shadows of once-citizens poorly miming countless debates long past before managing to make up. Far, far too many others simply let the feeling control them, their vicious actions and words puppeteered by raw emotion rather than blessed reason. Even the primitive systems set in place to deal with this burden of mortality, law and justice, seemed to be more reactive rather than preventative, moving to stop them only after greedy jealousy had swallowed them whole and spit out an immoral beast in their place. If he didn't see these mortals as mere shades of what they should have been, it would have been painful for him to witness.

...And yet…

For all of Emet-Selch's beliefs about how silly and wretched jealousy was, he felt something that was undeniably that very emotion welling up in his breast as of late.

Sage, the Raen called himself, but he was known by many other different names depending on who was speaking to him. The Warrior of Light… Warrior of Darkness… countless such titles were heaped upon his head after everything he had done for the people of both the Source and the First. After the private conversations the two of them had shared tucked away in shabby inn rooms, whispering in hushed tones lest others hear their words, he discovered that all of said titles were unwanted, or at least the forced burdens associated with them.

But there was one wonderfully liberating title that was a secret known only to the Ascian, one that tugged at his lips during their private times, begging to be reverently, worshipfully uttered.

_ Azem. _

Yes, he had a different form than the Azem he had grown so, so close to before their world had fallen apart. Yes, the gleam of his soul was far dimmer than it should have been in his soulsight, but that color, that  _ radiance…  _ it was undeniably a piece of Azem.

Perhaps that was why he chose not to sneer in disgust the first time this mighty hero had crumpled before him when the Ascian had decided to pester him in private, the teasing that he should have easily weathered serving as his final straw. Perhaps that was why he stood there, head cocked slightly to one side, as Sage broke down in front of him, the stress of saving two different worlds at the expense of himself finally becoming too much for him to bear. Were it any other mortal, he would have looked at the shivering, gasping mess with only the purest of revulsion, maybe even made a show of lifting his robes a bit as he stepped over him so his filth wouldn't spread to him.

This was a mortal, yes, but… he was so, so much more than that to him, at least once upon a time.

So perhaps that was why he chose to kneel down and drape a heavy arm across broad, shuddering shoulders, holding this fragment of his loved one close to his chest.

There was the expected tensing of muscles well-honed through archery, confusion and wariness sharp enough to cut through the fog of despair that hung over him. There was the quiet, raspy, “...Why are you doing this…?”

What sort of answer could he give to that? Where could he even  _ begin _ to give a response that would make this seem acceptable to his sworn enemy when he wasn’t even sure why he was doing this himself? The seconds stretched out into eons and, through it all, he could feel the hero’s gaze upon him, cautious and distrustful… but also curious, likely having figured that him and his ilk didn’t have even a scrap of humanity left after previous encounters with Lahabrea and the lesser Sundered.

So Emet-Selch decided to prove otherwise, weaving him a tale of when the world and all its inhabitants were still whole, of when he still had his true friends, family, loved ones. At first, he tried his best to lie by omission, fudging details here and there to make it seem as though desperation and loneliness haven't weighed heavy on his shoulders through the millennia he'd been weaving his work—and besides, past experiences had taught him that the more of the truth he spoke, the more outlandish he sounded to these ignorant mortals. But, as he continued, more and more of his self-control slipped through his grasp, the words tumbling freely from his lips as though he was a man possessed, so, so close to finally having his partner back in his life once again that he was willing to cast off every secretive shroud he had wrapped himself up in over the years, to divulge information unheard by mortal ears ever since the nigh-forgotten times near the Sundering when the Ascians attempted to broker for peace with them.

And, when the tale of Amaurot and its downfall had been told, he stared breathlessly down at this hero, this mere spark of his sunlight that he still cradled against himself. He was clearly incredulous—any mortal was when he told that story—but there was something else in his expression, brows knitted together in serious consideration, gaze flicking to and away from him as though mulling over his words.

When Sage finally did speak, it was slow, measured. "...I've no idea if all of what you've said is true or just some of it. You might be making the whole thing up as far as I know, but… I know you wouldn't do something like this lightly." With a jerk of his head, he gestured to their closeness. "So I'm tempted to believe you. That, and it all lines up with everything a bit  _ too _ well to just be all a bunch of lies. However…" He pulled away slightly, levelling his gaze with the Ascian's and keeping it there. "You do know I'm not him, right? Azem, I mean. I  _ can't  _ be him, not unless the Rejoining happens, and, well…" He let the question hang, though the remainder was obvious to Emet-Selch.

Did he know that?  _ Of course _ he knew that he wasn't Azem, was reminded of that damnable little fact every time he saw how sickly his soul was. He knew that he was now the Warrior of Light, puppet to Hydaelyn, sworn enemy of his brethren and everything that they worked towards. He knew that he would fight against the Rejoining with every fiber of his being, would sacrifice himself for the countless mortal lives hanging in the balance if that was what it took.

...And yet...

Here he was, listening to his tale, an urge to understand that he hadn't experienced from mortals in many a century. Here was a chance at acceptance, at peace, and with a shard of lovely, wonderful Azem besides… Certainly he may claim to no longer be him, but the sense of morality, the willingness to self-sacrifice if need be, all those heroic traits of his had still survived all this time.

"...I am aware." He eventually answered after wetting his dry lips with his tongue. "I, too, am aware that you would never willingly allow the Rejoining to occur. But I simply could not bear to see you in such a sorry state, not after all we have been through before. Besides, this," he squeezed his shoulders slightly, "this is nice… Reminds this old, sentimental man of better times."

Sage closed his eyes, then, leaning in against him, though in a way that ensured his horns didn't snag on his clothing. "And I have to admit that it's nice to have someone care about me like that. Doesn't happen too often; it's mostly just 'Warrior of Light, go do this' or 'Warrior of Darkness, come help us' or something like that." A pause. "...Could get used to this."

The Ascian could have sworn his heart skipped a beat, then, feeling as though he was millennia younger, reluctantly confirming his feelings to Azem for the first time all over again. "You very well could." He said, perhaps a touch too quickly. "You wish to be treated with affection and care rather than as a simple tool of war and I wish to provide affection and care to you, even if you may not fully remember why. We may be on opposite sides, but there is no reason we cannot come to a… mutual understanding, of a sort, and see where that takes us. Certainly, we would have to keep quiet about it lest those Scions of yours shatter the whole of the Crystarium with the sounds of their screaming, but I am well-accustomed to keeping secrets."

There was another pause, stretching out so long that Emet-Selch feared he may have overstepped his bounds, placed his delicate trust, hopes, and dreams in the hands of the wrong mortal yet again. But then, Sage opened his eyes, pure relief glittering in their depths, a raw vulnerability that he would not,  _ could not _ show to his companions. With a quirk of a smile, he leaned in—minding his horns and their potential to gore yet again—to press hesitant, gentle lips against his cheek. "I think I'd like that, yes."

But that was then, and this was now.

Now, after he had stood witness to conversations between Sage and the Crystal Exarch in the Ocular, playing the part of exasperating, aggravating Ascian with all the zeal he could muster; after all, it wasn't every day he could freely cast aside whatever mortal guise he had chosen to pester his adversaries. While they were busy coming up with where they should go next or how badly that accursed Light had spread, he offered snide, snarky comments, peppering in just the slightest hint of useful information here and there—he had the misfortune of still having to keep up appearances to the Scions. He had his role and he followed it admirably, providing not even a hint as to what occurred between him and this precious hero behind closed doors.

Unfortunately, so did Sage.

The cheerfulness and familiarity he exhibited to the other Scions, he could handle. The abject scorn he had on his face whenever the Ascian opened his mouth, he could handle. He could even weather the outright lack of any attention at all whenever he dutifully turned his gaze away from his antics to focus back on whatever problem they were trying to tackle at the time.

No, what left him nearly about to blow his cover and set his blood boiling with that horrid mortal emotion of jealousy was the Crystal Exarch himself.

His mere existence was infuriating enough, a being that was able to coax seemingly-impossible powers out of the Crystal Tower that  _ he _ had a hand in creating centuries ago.  _ He  _ was the architect of it,  _ he _ should know every ilm of that place and everything that it was capable of, but no, this upstart mage somehow managed to harness powers that he didn't even know existed, much less how to bind them to a piece of architecture.

And, as if claiming  _ his _ tower as his own weren't enough, he was undoubtedly trying to claim  _ his _ hero as his own as well.

The warmth, the sickening eagerness that he exuded whenever Sage walked into the room, the overt familiarity with him despite only recently beckoning him to this doomed Shard with practically no way of him refusing the call… Oh yes, to the untrained eye, it could just be seen as the usual amount of hero worship that was lavished upon the Warrior wherever he went or perhaps the same sort of camaraderie that he shared with the Scions, but Emet-Selch knew better. The loving quirk of his lips whenever his precious hero was near, the way his words and tone betrayed something other than mere friendship, by Zodiark, his gaze was probably as soft and loving as a puppy's under that hood he always wore… No, Emet-Selch knew full-well the signs of being irreparably lovestruck when he saw them. Now, by itself, that wouldn't be such a bad thing; he could freely ignore it and even quietly gloat to himself about how he had something—or rather some _ one _ —that the Exarch wanted. Petty, yes, but it was the small victories that kept him going in between Calamities.

No, the issue here was that Sage wasn't rejecting him, even going so far as to  _ encourage _ him as far as he could tell.

The familiarity was clearly accepted with Sage treating the Exarch as nicely as any of his other companions despite how the man was  _ obviously _ hiding things from all of them. Warm smile was traded for warm smile. He even caught snatches of boisterous laughter pealing from Sage's lips in response to some quip the Exarch uttered whilst he was skulking about in the shadows, trying to figure out the Crystal Tower's secrets. None of his obvious signs of interest were shot down.

So, pessimist that he was, he assumed the worst.

Betrayed by a mortal, yet again. It shouldn't have been a surprise at this point, not after how he'd been treated over the millennia. Were it anyone else, he likely wouldn't have been, but the fact that it was a shard of Azem, one who he had poured out his secrets and sorrows to… It was enough to stoke the fires of jealousy in his long-thought-shriveled heart, every loving little action he witnessed between Sage and the Crystal Exarch only adding fuel to the smoldering flames. Soon enough, after one too many signs of affection suffered in silence, it blazed a ragged hole in the center of his chest, devouring the newly-reawakened love and care that he had grown to enjoy feeling once more.

It was then that he understood how tempting those searing flames had been to countless mortals.

And it was then that he, like they had, surrendered himself to them.

Perhaps, like lesser mortals, he intended to end his problems in a wave of bloodshed. Perhaps he wanted to start a proper war against himself and the Scions like he should have done at the beginning of all this. He didn't know anymore. What he  _ did _ know was that he was storming his way to the Ocular like a man possessed, every ilm of him filled with a burning, righteous fury. Certainly, he could have simply teleported there and been done with it, but his rage demanded an outlet of some kind and the physical exercise would suffice until he reached his destination. Secrets be damned, he was going to give both Sage and the Exarch more than an earful for putting him through this even if he had to shout their relationship status from the Crystal Tower itself.

He had just approached the entrance to the Ocular when he heard snippets of a conversation taking place behind the barely-cracked door.

"Ah, one more thing…" The Exarch's voice drifted out to him, slow with just a touch of hesitation to it. "You trained as a bard and still consider it as your specialty, no? If so, might I share a song with you sometime? I dabbled in the art at one point and would appreciate the opportunity to see if I am still up to snuff… and who knows? Perhaps some of your talent may brush off on me yet. If you do not wish to draw a crowd, I know of many a secluded place here in the Crystal Tower that are far from curious ears."

Emet-Selch paused then, gloved fingers just barely brushing against the door. Had he heard him correctly? Was he understanding him right? Had the Exarch asked Sage out on a date, of sorts? Certainly, he could claim up and down that he was merely seeing one of the many talents the Warrior of Darkness had at his disposal or any other pathetic excuse he could come up with, but the Ascian could see the offer for what it was.

His fingers curled into a fist and he was about to press forwards, slam the door open with all the might of a furious, jealous ancient.

But then he heard Sage's response.

"Well…" He began, a slight edge of anxiety in his normally even voice obvious to the Ascian's ears. "There  _ is _ the whole 'saving the First' thing that I'm a little busy with. It's taking up  _ a lot _ of my time and I really should start on the path towards the next Lightwarden… Maybe sometime after that, though!" A chuckle, trying to sound friendly and reassuring.

Emet-Selch sagged then, that all-consuming rage leaving him in an instant. The Exarch may very well not have noticed that nervousness in his voice due to his tendency to call upon him for deadly tasks, but he most definitely recognized it for what it was—though, the fact that he himself bumbled his way through various mortals showing interest in whatever shell he was wearing at the time in a similar fashion likely helped.

A rejection. Perhaps a bit too kind for his liking, but still. He could feel his body flood with relief, so, so glad that his hero was still his own.

But then came realization. With such a nice rejection, Sage would likely be too polite to leave before hearing the Exarch's response, a response which might just involve pressing the matter, perhaps claiming that it would do him some good to rest for just a bit before heading out once more or something to that effect.

Well, he couldn't have that.

One step backwards and he pressed himself into a seething mass of shadows he conjured up. One step forwards into the darkness and he emerged right in the middle of the Ocular, standing just off to one side of the Exarch and Sage. The Exarch was clearly caught off-guard, mouth hanging open as he took a couple of steps back himself before regaining his composure and muttering a quick, "Emet-Selch…" as a greeting. Sage, meanwhile, played his part, lips curved downwards in a deep frown, though his eyes were much, much too soft, a silent "thank you" for the Ascian's timely appearance.

"Gentlemen," he started in his usual snide voice, accompanied by a mocking bow, "I  _ do _ hope I am not interrupting anything of much importance."

The glare he felt from the Exarch gave him all the answer he needed.

"I simply thought I might be able to borrow our resident hero for a quick spell before he had to leave on his heroic duties once more. I have words for his ears and his ears alone, you see." A quick glance at Sage. "...Or, well,  _ horns _ , as it were."

"Anything that you can say to the Warrior of Darkness, you can say to me as well, Emet-Selch."

He shifted his gaze to the Exarch, then, expression the same bored, joyless one that it usually was except for one key difference. His eyelids drooped down halfway over his golden eyes dangerously, like a predator lazily considering when it would be finished toying with its prey and finally end its suffering. Oh, it would be a shame to reveal the full extent of the dark magicks at his command to squash this puny insect, but it would be so,  _ so  _ satisfying...

"Now, now," Sage’s voice cut through his near-murderous thoughts, "you know how Ascians are. You have to play along with their schemes so they'll actually tell you what you want to know. I’ll indulge him and go and listen to whatever he has to say.” He put on a placating smile. “Oh, and don’t you worry about me, I know how to take care of myself.” And, with that, he turned and left the Ocular before the Exarch could protest the action.

The Ascian, meanwhile, smiled a cold, triumphant smile at the Exarch before quickly (or, as quickly as he could) following after Sage, offering him a cursory wave behind his back as he left.

The two of them were quiet as they moved through the Crystarium; there was no telling who could possibly be eavesdropping on them at any one moment. Soon enough, however, they reached the safety of Sage’s inn room at the Pendants, with Sage offering a suitably grumbled explanation to the innkeeper to keep him from interrupting them.

Once inside, Emet-Selch eased down onto the side of the bed as though he belonged there, giving Sage a bemused look. “You know, I might call  _ you _ hero, but I might just be able to take up that mantle myself after that showing. I have to say, though, you  _ did  _ have me worried that you might actually reciprocate his feelings for a while there.”

The Au Ra sank down beside him with a heavy sigh, dropping his head down into his hands and raking fingers through his black hair. “Yeah, well… I had hoped he was just being all friendly and in awe of me because I’m the Warrior of Light, but that… that was a bit much. But also, I guess I just didn’t really know what to do there? I mean, I can’t exactly tell him that I’m already taken by an Ascian, right?”

A nonchalant twirl of his wrist. “Correct, but there is no need for that. If I am not present if he tries that again, simply reject him and explain that he is a friend to you—nicely, if you must. Just because you are the most famed hero across two shards now, you do not owe your affection to anyone.” He leaned his head against his shoulder, giving him his most winning smile. “...Except, perhaps, for little old me?”

Sage chuckled then, curling an arm around his side and smiling down at him, a soft, private one that was as warm as the sun’s life-giving rays. “Alright, alright. You got me there.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and wanted to screech at me in a manner similar to socializing, then you can find my Twitter right [here](https://twitter.com/HippestGlitch).


End file.
